


All Wrapped Up: Snow at Shibden

by owlfaaace



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: All Wrapped Up Collection, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Shibden Hall, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28259811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlfaaace/pseuds/owlfaaace
Summary: My submission for the collective "All Wrapped Up" Christmas Challenge.VerseTop came up with these prompts, we each had to include at least 5:Praise/Daddy/Little One kinkEdgingStrapPower Bottom Takes ChargeCandle WaxThermometerDecoratingHot ChocolateEarringA LetterThis is a very SFW story, because sometimes you just need a bit of Christmas loveliness.  (Also this is my first fic in this fandom!)
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 43





	All Wrapped Up: Snow at Shibden

“Damn…” Anne Lister’s soft curse lingers on the window pane, a patch of opaque frustration on the chilled glass in front of an increasingly white backdrop. Snow hadn’t been forecast at all; even for December, the sheer amount now falling is a surprise. _Not even so much as a hard frost in recent days_ , Anne muses, her brow furrowing. So, when she’d made her suggestion to Miss Walker the day before yesterday, it hadn’t seemed as completely impractical as it now appeared to be, in the face of this sudden whiteout.

 _“Come up to Shibden on Thursday, take tea with my Aunt and Uncle? It’ll be Christmas Eve.”_ Anne recalls their conversation from that afternoon in the chaumière. She’d been breathless after the effort of their lovemaking, lying across the bed, her legs entwined with Ann Walker’s. Safe in their private sanctuary away from the world, the pair could enjoy the gentle sunlight streaming across their bodies through the open window shutters.

Ann had beamed at that, her pale blue eyes twinkling, her hand gently tracing Anne’s strong jawline before replying, “ _I’d like that, very much.”_

Despite her frustration at today’s weather, this memory makes a corner of Anne’s mouth curve up involuntarily; she’s entranced by the recollection of Ann’s smooth lips, the smell of her hair as they curled up against each other. However, today’s elegant afternoon of tea and pleasant conversation with her lover and family now seems completely out of the question. She scowls in frustration at the heavy flakes cascade out of the sky, adding to the thick covering developing on the flowerbeds and clinging to skeletal tree branches. _They’d never get her carriage up the road in this weather..._

Breaking herself out of her trance, Anne spins from the window and pushes some documents aside on her bureau, seeking out the pad of fine writing paper she knows is hidden somewhere, buried under the detritus of her work. Finally, paper ready and quill in hand, she dips the nib into her favourite deepest ebony ink, before beginning to compose her message.

 _Dearest Ann,_ she begins, _Our plans today look to have been scuppered. My Aunt and Uncle were so looking forward to having tea with you (as was I, of course) but winter appears to have other ideas..._

She pauses, sighing, placing the quill back down. As usual, Anne’s mind spurs her on at great speed in several different directions at once. Letter unfinished, she strides out of her room, around the corner, placing one hand on the fine polished banister. She yells out, “Booth!”

“He’s round back, ma’am,” Cordingley calls back, her voice wavering oddly.  
  
“Right. Good…” Anne begins her speedy descent down the stairs, before the thought occurs to her to actually look up at her servant. She stops in her tracks at the sight of Cordingley up a rather rickety-looking wooden ladder, hanging festive sprigs of holly across the large portrait frames in the main hall of the house. Hemingway is holding the bottom of the ladder, not that she appears to be adding much stability to the whole operation. Cordingley over-extends her arm to adjust her decoration, causing the ladder to lurch worryingly. Anne winces,  
  
“For goodness’ sake be careful, you two! I don’t want to have to send for a doctor in this weather if you fall and break your leg.”

“S’alright ma’am,” Cordingley replies, “be nice to get this place looking a little more festive!”

“I don’t understand all the fuss,” Anne grumbles, “you’ll only need to get back up there to take it all down in a couple of weeks’ time…” She continues down the stairs, leaving the women to their decorating, before thundering through the corridors to find John Booth in the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe, eating an apple. He quickly straightens up at the sight of the lady of the house.  
  
“Afternoon, ma’am,” he greets her with a nod of his head, before hastily running a hand through his unkempt mop of hair.

“There you are. I need you to go - ah, yes, hello, John,” Anne only remembers her courtesies halfway through giving the order to her servant, in her typical way that Marian always criticises her for.“I need to get a letter urgently to Miss Walker at Crow’s Nest. She was due to come and take tea with us later but I don’t want her to risk the travel in _this_ …” she gestures vaguely in annoyance towards outside. “I realise the conditions are treacherous, but if you were still planning on going into town soon anyway, might you be passing that way?”

John nods eagerly, “Aye ma’am, I’m still heading t’Stag’s Head for the Yuletide carolling - wouldn’t miss it for the world! Bit o’ snow won’t keep me from a pint and a singsong.” He smiles, “I’d be glad to run that message to Miss Walker, it’s no trouble. I can go as soon as you need.”  
  
Having heard the confirmation she required, Anne is already heading back towards her office, calling out as she walks away, “Excellent, I’ll get it to you shortly!”

She stomps back up the stairs, already ahead of herself and constructing the remainder of the letter in her head before she sits down. She picks up her quill and continues:

_…I must insist that you do not trouble yourself, nor risk life and limb to travel up to us in this weather. The snow is already lying very heavily, and I fear the roads will be impassable to carriages within the hour._

At that, she glances up to her beloved thermometer mounted on the wall, its darkly-stained wood and road-worn gauge providing familiar comfort to her.  
  
 _It’s already down to one degree Celsius, so ice will likely cause havoc today and possibly even into tomorrow. As much as my heart is filled with regret to admit it, we must reschedule our appointment for another day.  
  
_ She pauses, her mouth set, accepting the feelings of bitter disappointment, knowing she will not be holding Ann in her arms later, won’t see her smile or hear her laughter echo through Shibden. The place always feels so much brighter when Ann is there. Not to mention the effect she has on Anne’s Aunt and Uncle as well: their usually dour faces light up in Ann’s pleasant, polite company. She resigns herself, finishing off the letter, keen to get John out to deliver it as soon as possible.

After folding it closed, Anne reaches in a drawer for her sealing wax, swearing softly as she realises there’s none to be had. Glancing around her office, she grabs the nearest candle to hand. It was once long, spindly and pale, but is not much more than wick and a misshapen puddle now. With a little effort, singeing her fingers in the process, Anne manages to get the stub wick lit, and encourages a little melted wax into an oddly shaped blob across the split in the paper. As she tips the candle back up, more melted wax falls onto the paper, creating a very ugly-looking, but effective seal.  
  
 _Hardly the most elegant love-letter ever sent…_ She sighs, wishing she’d done a better job of the candle wax. But, Anne Lister is an ever-practical person, and in this instance, needs must. The letter has to be sent quickly.

She breaks into a little jog as she heads downstairs to give the letter to Booth. She’s pleased to find him still in the kitchen, already wearing heavy boots, pulling on his thick winter over-coat. He takes the letter from her outstretched hand.

“I’ll head straight to Crow’s Nest, ma’am, rest assured,” he confirms as he heads for the door.  
  
“Thank you, John. Try not to get too drunk tonight, hey?” Anne flashes him a roguish smile, and for a second she almost wishes she could go with him. She recalls the nights long ago as a younger woman when she would sneak out to the pub to drink and play cards with the locals.  
  
“Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.” John grins, opens the door and ducks his head under the frame, stepping out into the snow. Snowflakes flurry past him into the kitchen, then lie melting on the stone flags.

Her letter sent, her heart heavy, Anne treads softly back through to the main hall, Cordingley and Hemingway nowhere to be seen. She surveys their festive decorations. _Not bad, actually, spruces the old place up nicely,_ a small smile forms on her lips.

Pacing through to the study, she finds her Aunt and Uncle slumped in their respective armchairs. Argus, the enormous family deerhound, sprawls out gracelessly across the floor, all three of them snoozing in front of the fire. Not wishing to disturb them too much, Anne places her hand gently on her Aunt’s arm, whispering, “Aunt? Miss Walker isn’t coming over, there’s too much snow…” Her Aunt stirs briefly, mumbling an acknowledgement.“No need to get up…” Anne murmurs, smiling, as she stands and crosses to the window. It would be falling dark soon, and the cold from outside was beginning to seep through the glass. She takes another lingering look at the stark, pale beauty of Shibden’s grounds, now completely covered in snow, before pulling the wooden shutters closed, keeping the heat from the fire in the room.

Before she can make her way back up the stairs, there’s a knock at the front door. It’s softer than the usual brusque rapping of most visitors announcing themselves. Anne’s brow furrows briefly; she doesn’t hear the rapidly approaching footsteps of anyone who _should_ be running to answer the door. She glances around, nobody to be seen. Her servants’ lack of availability only adds to her annoyance at the day’s events. She rolls her eyes and resigns herself to the inconvenience of answering her own front door. _But who on earth,_ she muses as her hand reaches out to work the lock, _would be visiting in weather like this?_

She raises the latch, pulling the heavy wood towards her to reveal the unlikely caller at the doorstep. Despite herself, Anne can’t help but stare. There, amidst the failing light and fat snowflakes spinning down to earth, Ann Walker waits patiently, her manservant James standing a little further back. She’s all wrapped up head to toe like some Polar explorer - only the smooth skin of her face peeks out from within a fur-lined hood, the tip of her nose reddened by the cold. She breaks into a wide smile at Anne’s expression, and lets out a laugh which tinkles like silver bells amidst the heavy silence of snowfall.  
  
“Oh, you should _see_ your face! We had an appointment, did we not?” Ann grins, her left eyebrow flashing ever-so slightly in a coquettish way she knows Anne will register.

Speechless, Anne continues to gawp for a moment, before remembering her manners. She ushers them both inside, babbling, “But…y…you must be freezing! What in heaven’s name are you doing here?” She peers behind the pair of them, looking for a horse and cart.  
  
“We walked!” Ann cheerily pipes up as she passes the threshold, James following in with a slightly pained smile. He deposits a small travel trunk on the floor, then breathes an audible sigh of relief. Ann places her small case on top of the crate, then pulls off her gloves, still grinning - obviously very pleased with herself. “It isn’t all that far, is it?”

“No, ma’am, not at all…”  
  
Ann nods at him, “Thank you, James,” giving him permission to head off to the kitchen to rest.

Anne Lister steps back, as if she needs more space to take in the whole picture of Ann Walker, like she can’t quite believe she’s really there. “You, you _walked_ here? From Crow’s Nest? In this weather? And you brought…luggage?”

“Well, as soon as I saw it coming down earlier I asked James if he thought we could still make it over.” She removes her fur hat, shaking her golden tresses loose in a way that makes Anne’s breath quicken. “The carriage wasn’t an option, and I’ve walked here before with you, so I knew the way.” Ann breezes, then starts the arduous process of removing all of her sodden, freezing outerwear. Anne helps her out of the enormous overcoat, chuckling at the revelation of more layers under layers under layers.“You don’t mind if we stay for a few days, do you? Only, I fear we may well be stuck here for Christmas now…” she bites her lip in her mischievous way that she knows Anne can’t resist.  
  
“Really? Oh Ann, that would be…that would be absolutely _fine._ ” Anne realises she sounds positively giddy; the two of them being together at Shibden for Christmas is the best situation she could possibly have hoped for.  
  
Eventually, Ann is standing in the hall, surrounded by discarded furs and scarves. She is not wearing one of her usual fine dresses, but instead is sporting a pair of man’s cotton breeches and a shirt, both far too large for her slim figure. Noticing Anne’s raised eyebrow, Ann glances down at herself, “I borrowed these from James…couldn’t exactly stuff a dress under all of that. Besides, this is surprisingly comfortable. I can certainly see the appeal of wearing it!” She strikes a pose, puffing her chest out, her hands balled up and propped on her hips.  
  
Anne laughs, her heart full to bursting at the effort Ann has made in order to get here. She finds herself, once again, in awe of the spirit and bravery of the woman she loves.

Ann steps in close, clasping both of Anne’s hands in hers. “What can I say, I took a leaf out of your book.” the blonde grins, lowering her voice. “I took charge of the situation and made a decision.” She tilts her head up, whispering, their lips almost close enough to touch, “and I _liked_ it…”

With great effort, Anne restrains herself from closing the gap between them and ravishing her there and then in the hall. She ignores the heat building between her legs and pulls back just a little. “We’d best get you upstairs to bed…make sure you haven’t caught a chill out there…”

“That _does_ seem like the sensible thing to do.” Ann breathes, nodding, her gaze dropping to Anne’s lips. As they turn to run up the stairs, Ann furrows her brow and looks around, “Oh but, your Aunt and Uncle - shouldn’t I say hello to them first?”  
  
Anne shakes her head, pulling her gently up the stairs, “They’re well into their afternoon nap - I wouldn't dream of interrupting them!”  
  
Their rapid footsteps thunder up the stairs, both women eager to get behind the privacy of a locked bedroom door.

Some time later, Cordingley potters back into the hall, having foraged more ivy berries from outside to continue her adornments. She spies James relaxing in the kitchen, then the pile of abandoned clothing on the floor. She sighs with a smile. One by one, she picks up the garments, and hangs them up to dry in front of the crackling fire.


End file.
